


Allotted

by Davechicken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21594193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: For narumikaiko, who asked for Alpha Centauri, after all.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	Allotted

“I should like to visit, one day,” the angel says, as his fingers linger on the spine of a book much too modern to have been chosen by him.

“Hmm?”

“You… when… when you thought everything…”

Crowley is too kind (blech) to fill in the missing words to that, but he understands. “Space, you mean?”

“Y-yes. It - it isn’t to say I do not _love_ it here, it’s…”

The demon clicks his fingers, and holds his hand out, waiting for the book to be drawn from the shelf and offered to him. He does have one or two, peppered in here and there. Of course, he prefers things he can put on the very big screen, it’s easier to relax to movies than it is to books, but some of his… non-fiction works are here.

On their shelves.

In their home.

Still a novelty, still sort of fragile, in that he worries there’s going to turn out to be one of those ‘it was all a dream’ moments, or he’ll have been Incepted or some shit. Still in that awkward part where their first response to most things is to ask what the other would prefer…

Except for a few things. Like ‘no tartan in the bedroom’. (He lost that. But he still kept it off the bedding.) ‘Yes we do need extra wine glasses in case we have company’. (Wait, how did he lose that one, too?) Fine. He’s going to need to find something he can win at. There’s no way he’s going to be completely, _utterly_ whipped. 

“Maybe… nice to visit?” he offers. 

Aziraphale can go from worried-to-delighted faster than Crowley can fail to blink. Even now. Even bloody now, he can just do that and Crowley knows he would do almost anything.

Bugger.

Moving in just made it so much more easy for the angel to get his way. With. Everything.

Narrowing his eyes to ensure his cheeks don’t go red (failed), Crowley licks a finger and turns the pages. Better to hide.

“I think it might be quite lovely. I would never want to leave the world, but you… I… perhaps? As… an escape?”

“We’re in the bloody countryside, angel. I have to drive you to the bus stop if you don’t want a lift wherever you’re going. The _post box_ is closer than the nearest _source of wine_.”

“Yes, well.” Now he’s huffy.

“...I’m just saying, it’s pretty remote here. I’m not saying I don’t _want_ to. Just… not the best explanation.”

Aziraphale pouts, but pads over, and leans to look over his shoulder. He’s too short to do so effectively, so he arches onto the balls of his feet as Crowley surreptitiously drops his knees a little, too. “You had thought of it as… I thought it would be nice to see why you were so… do you not?”

Oh. Fuck. He’s being sweet and everything, and Crowley is being tetchy. Of course.

Count to six thousand.

“It’s this one,” he says, half changing the subject, flipping through to the best picture humanity has captured.

“Oh, that’s very pretty.”

“Should be. I had a hand in it.”

“Well. It could be pleasant. If we wished… some time to… get a different perspective.”

Crowley likes Earth. He does. The depths of space had been something necessary (at the time) and not a preference. But, so had this cottage. He’d been sure he’d not like being so far from London’s bustle, but then he also hates the bustle as much as he loves it.

So. Maybe.

Maybe they need a bit of both. Peace, and chaos. Noise, and nothing. 

“...there’s… there’s one that’s got a similar orbit. They call it… the Goldilocks Zone.”

“...because of the bears?”

“...because it’s ‘just right’, or close enough, to support life.”

“Oh!”

“I mean. They get it a bit closer, the science, every few years. Pretty smart of them, considering they’re just using a load of mirrors and stuff.”

Aziraphale places a tiny little kiss to his neck. “We could have an allotment.”

“...an… are we retired or something? Are you planning on rolling up your trousers and wearing a hankie on your head?” 

“Perhaps… we do not have much of a ‘job’, now, and…”

An allotment. It wouldn’t be Eden. Eden - for all the beauty - had been too… sterile. You got nice tall trees, sure, but there was no variety, no chaos, no…

You needed, really, muck under your fingernails. Bees. 

Bees!

“...we could… make a colony. Of bees. For when they fuck them up, here. So there’s still wine, and beer and stuff.” Yes. Bees. A nice apiary. 

“You have to promise you shan’t shout at them, dear.”

“...you’re also not to interfere. When I saw what you did to the Dowlings, I started to suspect you got put on the wall duty because you had no idea how to look after flora and fauna.”

“...that… Crowley!”

He turns, and pecks his cheek. “I will even allow you to wear stupid lined wellies.”

It’ll be better. Better than perfect. And it isn’t running away, it’s… taking some time for themselves, for once. For real, and not needing to glance behind. 

Retirement. Sounds… good.


End file.
